


the only sun I ever knew

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Borussia Dortmund, Liverpool F.C., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5819731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jürgen and Željko, from Mainz to Liverpool. A study of a marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the only sun I ever knew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anemoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemoi/gifts).



> Because you wanted to and then i couldn't stop thinking about it and now here it is.
> 
> Title is from The Magnetic Fields, [I don't believe in the sun](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L85cillM6ME).
> 
>  
> 
> [Nerd husbands in love](http://cdn-teamtalk.365.co.za/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/14083209/Zeljko-Buvac-Jurgen-Klopp-TEAMtalk-700x367.jpg)

 

The locker rooms in Mainz are nice. Modern and clean, with miniature logos painted on the walls, the same ones as on the shirts.

 

It’s loud, even in the early hours of the morning. Someone shouts out a greeting and people laugh. The radio is on.

 

The air is heavy with the acrid smell of sweat and disinfectant. Oddly, it’s the thing that makes it easier for him and makes the knot in his shoulders unwind, because it smells familiar, like every single locker room he’s ever been in, and he’s been in many.

 

It’s the first time he’s been in this one, though. Željko is nervous, returns every cautious glance with an equally cautious smile. He’s confident enough in his German, but whenever he thinks about starting a conversation, his tongue sits heavy in his mouth.

 

At least it’s not a warzone, but he’s trying not to think about that, so he doesn’t, concentrates on taping up his feet instead.

 

“Hey,” someone says, and it startles him into looking up. The man is standing with the light behind him, and Željko has to blink a few times before he can make out his features. The light casts a soft halo around his body. “Are you new here?”

 

“I am,” Željko says, straightening in his seat, “My name is Željko Buvač.”

 

“From Erfurt,” the man nods, then grins, offering his hand to shake. “I’m Jürgen. It seems like we’ll be roommates.”

 

Željko tests the word in his mouth, _mit-be-wohner_ , and he follows Jürgen’s finger to the locker next to his.

 

 ** _‘Jürgen Klopp’_** is written on top of it in peeling letter (different to Željko’s, where the writing is new and crisp, barely dried).

 

“Ah,” Željko nods, “I remember you. Striker, right? Not very fast, but efficient. I remember you gave our defenders a bit of bother.”

 

“Impressive,” Jürgen says, sits next to him on the bench. He’s still grinning and his teeth are straight and very white. “Do you remember everyone you’ve ever played against?”

 

“I have a good memory for names,” Željko says, shrugs, passes Jürgen the tape when he sees him reaching for it.

 

He doesn’t say ‘I learned to speak German in a year’. He also doesn’t say ‘I remembered your blonde hair.’ Or ‘I memorize football statistics when I’m bored.’

 

Their hands touch when Jürgen takes the tape. They put on their boots in companionable silence, and Željko is only a little surprised when they pair up for stretches like they’ve been doing it for years.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s unfair to say that they click immediately on the field, forming some sort of deadly partnership that shakes the club to its very foundation.

 

Željko is a bit too old to believe in things like that.

 

But he and Jürgen spend time together. They talk, about tactics, but mostly just about football. They sit on the couch in Jürgen’s apartment and watch Bundesliga matches on TV, taking them apart like vultures.

 

Sometimes, they get drunk off good German beer and Željko’s speech slurs and Jürgen smiles, soft and blurry around the edges.

 

“Željko,” he whispers warmly, frantically, breathing into Željko’s skin, “I think you’re the smartest man I’ve ever met.”

 

Željko shakes his head, laughs and takes another drink, doesn’t say, “You’re beautiful,” though he wants to.

 

 

*

 

 

Jürgen kisses with the singular focus he gives to everything in his life, deep and tender and passionate enough that it makes Željko’s knees weak, makes him reach out to clutch at his sweater to steady himself.

 

Jürgen is solid under his hands, warm, but Željko grips him tightly, somehow afraid still that he’s dreaming this, that Jürgen’ll disappear from his arms like a mirage. His lips are warm, almost burning, like Željko is trying to capture the sun, or just some of Jürgen’s immeasurable energy.

 

Jürgen cards his hands through Željko’s hair, smoothing down the strands. He can’t quite stop grinning and it makes it awkward to kiss him, but it’s not long before Željko’s grinning just as hard, and they dissolve into giddy laughter.

 

“You and me,” Jürgen murmurs into his skin, traces the words into the planes of his muscles and Željko feels it in his bones, in his sharp ruined sinews.

 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs back, watches in satisfaction as Jürgen blushes and stammers, because he’s never quite learned how to take a compliment.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s years later and Jürgen says “Come adopt a club with me,” and Željko is folding underwear into his suitcase before they even finish the call.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s Mainz and their names aren’t on adjacent lockers anymore, but Jürgen’s got a Plan and Željko’s got the Facts and together they shake the club down to its foundations.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s Dortmund and Jürgen looks good in yellow.

 

Željko’s memorized countless columns of stats in the last few days, knows each one of these wide-eyed players down to the numbers hidden in their bones.

 

“My Brain,” Jürgen says fondly, taps Željko on the temple and gestures him forward. Željko takes a deep breath and steps up to explain to everyone how they’re planning on winning the league.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s Liverpool and Željko presses Jürgen’s spare pair of glasses into his hands with an exasperated smile and pretends he doesn’t preen when Jürgen looks at him with unbridled wonder. You’d think he’d get tired of that look over the years.

 

He hasn’t.

 

Hours later, he takes the glasses off Jürgen, because he’s fallen asleep over diagrams and tacticals plans for the third time this week. He runs his his fingers through Jürgen’s hair, soft even after a few discreet dye jobs and a hair transplant. Still blonde, just not as flashy.

 

Then, satisfied, he goes to curl up on the sofa in corner of the office, uses what looks like a big dictionary as a pillow.

 

The room smells of paper and faintly of cigarette smoke, even if he’s taken to hiding Jürgen’s packs. Everything is quiet, except for Jürgen’s even breaths.

 

From the sofa, he can see him clearly. The soft slackness of his features in sleep, and the way his fingers twitch, unable to stay entirely still.

 

There’s a lamp on behind him.

 

The light casts a halo around his body.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on the fic:  
> \- Kloppo and Željko played together at Mainz from 1992-1995. Kloppo was 25 (and he'd been playing for Mainz since 1990) and Željko was 31.  
> \- [young Kloppo.](http://img.gboooo.com/images/news/Photo/Bundesliga/1810372_4.jpg) You can't see it in this picture but he was very blonde.  
> \- The Balkan wars started in 1992. Željko's hometown of Omarska was right in the middle of the warzone (and several Very Bad things happened there)  
> \- They took over managing Mainz in 2001, Kloppo as manager and Željko as his assistant  
> \- Kloppo took over Liverpool in 2015. Guess who was faithfully by his side?  
> \- Kloppo did once memorably call Željko 'the Brain' of his coaching team  
> \- Kloppo apparently did have a hair transplant  
> \- someone once told me that Kloppo smoked but i'm not sure if that's true or not  
> \- this is somewhat inspired by Anemoi's [stadium sound](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5805106) which you should read because it's a much better fic than this


End file.
